


Teeth

by WriterWithNoName1



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011), The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Celts, Dom/sub Undertones, Drama, Dubcon Kissing, Kissing, M/M, Master/Slave, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Dynamics, Rough Kissing, romans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 17:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12512308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterWithNoName1/pseuds/WriterWithNoName1
Summary: The fight between Esca and Marcus goes uninterrupted.





	Teeth

Esca throws himself upon Marcus and all he can see is white hot flashes of rage. It pulsates inside of him and demands to have its clawing, howling voice headed.

He wants to hurt, to bruise, to scar.

But in truth, the feeling lasts only as long as it takes for Esca to get on top of Marcus after a swift punch to his master’s face. It dissipates quickly, like rising steam.

Marcus growls and bares his teeth, his honour, and his rightful place as the Roman master has been insulted. His core is shaken by Esca’s sharp tongue, his refusal to obey in the fullest sense of the word. His pride is roaring.

Esca will not kill Marcus, he swore an oath, and he needs the Roman to be alive to free him.

The Briton is not sure what brings it about, but when there is a reprieve in their scrambling in the dirt Esca leans down and takes Marcus’ lips.

The Roman is not expecting it, why would he? He grunt’s against Esca’s lips and does not have a defence prepared; the Briton touches the inside of his mouth with his tongue.

It’s only a moment, barely even a blink; but his mouth is warm and full of heat and the Briton wants more of it.

Marcus shoves him upwards, tearing themselves apart, and Esca mourns the loss.

“That’s disgusting.” Marcus pants, face contorted with anger and confusion. “Why did you-”

“Shut _up._ ”

Esca can no longer listen to him, his wretched self-importance, and his ego which is as fragile as a seedling. He will silence Marcus.

“No- don- _MMPH!_ ”

Esca bites the lion, swallowing the sounds with his mouth and keeping Marcus’ wrists pinned either side of his head.

The Briton might be lithe, but he is strong. However, Marcus is also strong, and built like a stallion; if he truly wanted Esca gone, he could be rid of him.

He didn’t just have Marcus’ mouth, he peppers kisses up the length of his sculpted jaw all the way up to his ear. Esca can feel the rasp of the other man’s stubble under his lips.

He wants more, he wants all of it.

The Briton smothers Marcus’ face in kiss after kiss, watching as the skin flushes from chilly pale to soft pink.

Marcus wriggles, seemingly bucking his hips in an attempt to toss Esca from his position; but it is the wrong thing to do, because the friction ignites their combined arousal.

“E-Esca… _stop_ -” He screws up his face and tilts his face out of the Briton’s reach like a child.

“Fine.” Esca snatches for the neckline of Marcus’ tunic and tugs at it like a wolf at the flank of its prey; Marcus is wearing more wrappings than usual due to the cold, it is infuriating. 

And, of course, his taunting wooden eagle. 

Esca lays kisses on what little skin he can reach, even managing to dot the Roman’s freckles (which Esca knows he despises, he cannot fathom why) with pecks of affection.

Marcus gasps, either from the shock of the air on his chest or Esca attentions; it is unclear which. Even his neck is beginning to turn red, and Esca keeps going. “Is this not what you want? For me to worship my Roman master?”

“Esca, _stop_ this, now!”

“Why, can you not make me? Or perhaps you are enjoying this more than you think?” Esca digs his nails into the flesh of Marcus’ collarbone.

The Roman attempts to heave Esca off and onto the ground, but Esca rides through it like a ship bearing itself against a tidal wave. “Look at what you’ve done… you selfish, short sighted…”

Once more he crashes their mouths together, and this time, Marcus gives him an inch.

He is no doubt tiring from their quarrel, or his bad leg could be paining him.

A simple surrender, letting Esca inside and to bite down on his perfect, plump bottom lip. Marcus says something, a mumble, but it is lost.

He is handsome. He must know this, he is not stupid.

Others must have seen, and have wanted to do what Esca is doing now.

They are joined in a long, almost tender kiss, they explore each other; pressure is applied, and leave is given. Esca open’s his eyes to see Marcus’ long eyelashes fluttering like butterflies; he is relaxing, he is yielding, _finally_.

His is giving something back to Esca and it is a relief.

He remembers Marcus in Calleva, injured, trapped in a world of uncertainty and pain. But determined to heal, to become a man again.

That Marcus, a brave, but gentle hearted man is what Esca wants now.

Not this suspicious, arrogant, paranoid creature.

Then, Marcus decides to end it, he summons strength from somewhere and Esca is falling backwards and hits the earth. He is not hurt, just winded.

The Roman sits up, touching his fingers to his lips; almost curious, to see if any essence of the Briton has been left behind. His expression had shifted, he was no longer furious; his face had a softer, more sated look even if his eyes conveyed something still somewhat wary. His breath came out in puffs of white as the temperature grew colder still.

The fight is over. 

Esca sighed, and stood. “The horses” he said, reaching out a hand to help Marcus up.

Marcus scowled. “I can manage,” he struggled, but did manage to rise with some effort.

He rubbed his face with his sleeve before walking away.

The Briton rolls his eyes. His master will sulk now, but he will recover; and now they are free to continue on their fool’s errand.

Maybe they will argue again, maybe Esca will kiss his Marcus again.

The Roman turns, he is waiting for Esca to follow, eyes big and green and the Briton feels a little sting of pity.

Marcus is very much alone out here. No other Romans for many, many miles.

“I’m coming.”

With the loyalty of his slave reaffirmed for now, Marcus strode off to recover their lost steeds.

 _Yes_. Esca thinks to himself. _I will kiss him again._


End file.
